


Fathers and Sons

by Paige242



Category: The Shannara Chronicles (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-03
Updated: 2017-12-03
Packaged: 2019-02-10 03:07:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12902622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paige242/pseuds/Paige242
Summary: Shea reflects on the birth of his son. Decades later, Wil does the same.





	Fathers and Sons

_A/N- This takes place in the past and the future. For the purposes of this story (despite that one comment in season two), Shea is a full elf and Wil is a halfling (as stated multiple times in season one). There is also no mention of Shea meeting Wil in the past._

_This is part of my Wil/Mareth universe. In the future, they are married and rule over Aborlon._

_I was inspired by the scene with Heady’s brother in episode 5. Hope you enjoy!_

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Shea walked into the dark room, careful not to wake his sleeping wife. She had been though a lot that day and he knew that she needed a solid night of rest. It warmed him to see her breathing peacefully in their bed.

Truth be told, he was exhausted as well, but he doubted that he would be able to relax any time soon. The day had been eventful, to say the least. And despite some of the anger and stress that still lingered on that dark evening, Shea knew that he would remember it as one of the best days of his life.

They had a son.

He had a son.

A beautiful, healthy, perfect, son.

Wil.

Everything else aside, that was what mattered most.

Artfully avoiding the creaky floorboard, Shea approached the tiny crib his brother had crafted for the new arrival. It was simple and plain, like most things in their tiny cottage on the edge of the Vale, but seeing the gift reminded Shea that the boy was surrounded by love. Wil would always have him, and Heady and Flick to defend him from an unforgiving world.

That, at least, was a comforting thought.

The new father hated to think that his boy would need such protection, but he was not naïve. He had grown up here, the only one of his kind, and he knew what lay in store. It wasn’t fair, but it was the way of the world. 

His stomach churned at the thought of Wil facing what he had faced.  

But, as he looked down at the sleeping babe, Shea could not supress a wide grin from spreading across his face. In spite of what others believed, Shea knew that his son was absolutely perfect. The dim moonlight highlighted his cherubic face and he could already see wisps of Heady’s blonde hair atop his head. In Shea’s opinion, he looked so much like his amazing mother.

But the ears…

Well, those were his.

Reaching down into the crib, Shea gently ran his finger across one of the delicate elven tips. The boy would not have looked out of place in the nurseries of Arborlon, he mused with a slight tinge of sadness. That was his fault, and he hoped his son would not grow to resent him for this trait.

He had never seen a halfling before, and they had not known what to expect when they learned of the pregnancy. In fact, after nearly two years of trying, they had begun to doubt that such a union was possible at all. Apparently, human-elf pregnancies were possible, but difficult. When they discovered they were finally expecting, both had been overcome with joy. Heady said that she would be happy with anything, and she had kissed Shea’s ears playfully as she imagined what their child might inherit. But Shea, secretly, had prayed that the boy would take after his mother as much as possible. Being an elf in a human settlement had not been easy, and he had not wanted his child to be different.

But he was.

No one would mistake his son for a human child.

He would never belong here.    

Unable to resist for a moment longer, Shea reached down and gently picked up his son. The boy did not seem to wake as he slowly rocked him back and forth in his arms, holding him close. Protecting him from those outside who wished him harm.

Not even his mother’s family would accept him, apparently...

That was what had turned this joyful day into a stressful one.

Heady had gone into labour early that morning and, despite the strained relationship they had with her brother and parents, Shea had sent Flick to let them know. The optimistic part of him had hoped that they would set their prejudices aside when they heard that their first grandchild was due to arrive. They had refused to attend their wedding, and made no secret of the fact that they did not want their daughter to associate with an elf. Her father had banned them from his house and her brother spewed threats at Shea every time their paths crossed. But he didn’t think they would be able to hold onto their hatred when they saw their first grandchild.

Heady tried to deny it, and often said that they were better off without such prejudiced people in their lives, but he knew that the estrangement had hurt her. Their lives would be easier if they could simply make amends. Even though they had put them through a lot, Shea did not resent them for their views. They had grown up in a culture that was taught to despise his kind. Unlike their daughter, they held the same views as most humans. These resentments had existed for thousands of years, and he did not expect them to disappear simply because their daughter had fallen in love with an elf.

Shea had been more than happy to give them another chance to overcome the distance between them.

But things had not gone to plan.

Flick had come back looking nervous and, a few hours later, Heady’s father and bother had arrived. Shea offered them a warm handshake, but both had declared that they would not make pleasantries with an elf before brushing past him and entering the small cottage. He had seen the anger and disappointment on their faces, but hoped that Heady (now nearing the end of her labour) would not see the same.

The two had stood silently in the corner, barely offering Heady a greeting as they waited with folded arms. It had been an uncomfortable situation, to say the least, and things had only gotten worse when the child finally arrived.

For a moment, things had been perfect. The healer had washed the babe and Shea knelt at his exhausted wife’s side as their son was placed in her arms. Both shared tears of joy at the sight.

“Wil.” She had whispered, holding him close. “Our Wil.”

She had kissed them both, his heart bursting with pride at the amazing sight before him.

Flick was beaming at his side, and Heady had gestured for her father and brother to come closer. She had been smiling then, thinking that they had come to share in the celebration. 

Instead of complying, her father let out a hurtful scoff.

“I’ve seen enough.” He had declared, nodding towards his son. “I hope you’re pleased with yourself, Heady. You’ve brought another disgusting elf into this world. Another freak that will be hell bent on destroying us.” He paused, leering down at the innocent child. “The sight makes me sick.”

The pain on Heady’s face had instantly broken Shea’s heart. The beauty of the moment was lost with the man’s words, and Shea jumped to his feet, his hand on the hilt of his sword.

“Get out of my house.” He demanded, all thought of making amends now gone. “If you feel no love for your own grandson, then clearly you are even more despicable then I thought.”

Brazenly, the man had laughed, inches from his face. “That _creature_ is no grandson of mine, elf.” He spat.

If it hadn’t been for Flick’s hand holding him back, Shea would have lunged. He was used to such attacks on himself, and he had grown good at brushing off such remarks—but this was different. No one, not even Heady’s father, could insult his son. In that moment, he had wanted nothing more then to pummel him into the ground.

“Let them go,” Flick whispered wisely, holding Shea back. “Hurting him will only confirm what he already thinks about you. Be the bigger man.”

Shaking with rage, Shea managed to resist and, with another scoff and a look of hate-filled disgust, the old man and his son had finally left.

Heady had broken down into sobs after that and Shea had felt a mixture of anger, sadness and guilt as he reeled from the encounter. He hated how they had treated her. Treated them. And he could not understand how any man could look at such a beautiful child and disown him so cruelly. But, he supposed, prejudice rarely made sense. That man had been raised to think that anyone with pointed ears was a dangerous enemy and even his own grandson was not enough to change that. And if that was how he felt, then good riddance. He did not want Wil around anyone who hated him for being different.

As he looked down at his son, who was still cradled in his arms, Shea let out a deep sigh. Even though his grandfather had left, hopefully for good, Shea knew that they were surrounded by others who would feel the same.

Wil would always be a target here. And for that, he could not suppress a wave of guilt.

“It won’t be easy.” He whispered, his eyes looking down at his son’s distinctly elven ears. “I’m sorry.”

The boy cooed peacefully, and Shea was grateful that he was too young to know what was in store. They could shelter him for a while, at least. Shea had been at least five before he realized he was different. His parents had been wonderful, and Flick had been the best big brother he could have asked for. Somehow, his birthparents had found the only human family in the village who held no hatred of elves and he would always be grateful for that. If they had been alive now, he knew that they would have embraced their grandson with joy.

But no matter how well loved and cared for he was within these walls, Wil would figure out the reality of the situation one day. Just like he had. If he went to school, he would always be a target. People would taunt him. Try to hurt him.

Shea knew that it was up to him to help him adapt.

“I’ll help you, I promise.” He continued, placing a gentle kiss atop the boys head. “Humans can be cruel, but there are ways to get by. You’ll be okay.”

Shea paused, another sad thought passing his mind.

“It may not seem like it sometimes, but you’re better off here.”

Holding the child even closer then before, the man looked towards the ornate sword he had leaned against a nearby wall. It was strikingly elven and looked so out of place in the tiny human cottage. Just like he and his son did, he supposed.

The detailed carvings on the weapon gleamed in the moonlight.

The Sword of Shannara.

In all the excitement of the day, he’d barely had time to think about the other burdens that he had vowed to shield his son from.

The other burdens that were entirely his fault…

“I swear to you, Wil.” Shea said, trying to ignore the bristling of tears behind his eyes. “I will never let my fate be yours. I can’t make you human, and I’m sorry about that, but I can make sure you stay hidden here.” He paused. “As long as you stay away from druids and elves, you can avoid that destiny. You won’t have to be a Shannara. I’ll make sure you stay safe.”

As the moon peaked over the cottage, the new father held his precious son close. He hoped he could make good on his promises, and he knew that he would die before he let his son be drawn into a world of magical quests. As far as he was concerned, he had done his part. He had gone with Allanon, defeated the Warlock Lord, and finally returned home to the woman he loved. He was done with everything else.

When he had learned of Heady’s pregnancy, he had secretly prayed that their child would be too human to inherit his magic. It was elven magic, after all, a remnant of the world his people had first come from—and it was plausible to think that a halfling would not be suited for it.  The child was only hours old, but Shea could tell that his prayers had not been answered. There was clearly a lot of elf in him and, more troubling, he could feel the ember of something special inside of the tiny boy. It was hard to explain, and Shea knew that anyone else would think he was crazy, but he could already tell that his son had magic.

As heartbreaking as that was to the young father, he was determined to ensure that this would not define Wil’s life. His own birthparents had failed to protect him from the Shannara burden, but Shea had been through it all now.

If anyone could save Wil, he could.

And he would.

He had to.

Otherwise, Shea knew that he would break…

The thought of his beautiful, perfect son taking on the cruel burdens of his line would drive him mad.

“Don’t worry.” He whispered again, pulling the swaddling blanket up to cover his son’s elegantly pointed ears. “You’ll be safe.” 

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It was late, but Wil could hear the shuffling of feet outside the door of the royal bedchamber.

It had been an eventful day, and he knew that many members of the palace staff were still buzzing with excitement.

After all, it wasn’t every day that a new prince—and heir to the throne of Aborlon—was born.

Although his wife had finally drifted off in their bed, and was sleeping peacefully, the young man doubted that he would get much rest that night. His entire body was still tingling with overwhelming joy and he could not tear his eyes away from the tiny child that now lay quietly in an ornate golden bassinet. It was a beautiful sight, the most beautiful sight he had ever seen, and Wil grinned as he relived the feeling of holding the boy in his arms for the first time.

Mareth, exhausted but beautiful as ever, had passed him his son after laying a kiss atop his freshly bathed head. The child had been so peaceful in his mother’s arms, and (much to his relief) had remained content in his. Wil had wanted to hold him forever but, of course, there had been others who wanted to share the joy.

While it would have been nice to have a day of privacy, that was simply not possible for the royal family. A parade of nobles and advisors had come to see the young prince and all had beamed with approval as they admired the little boy.

Jair Shea Allanon Elessidil Shannara.

Crown Prince of the Elves.

It was a big title for such a tiny person and, as he continued to look down at his sleeping son, Wil hoped that Jair would not resent them for giving him this life. Taking on the royal burden had not been something either her or Mareth had wanted. But, with Ander’s death, there had been little choice. His future wife had a claim as Princess Pyria’s daughter, and he had a claim as the last living Shannara. They had arrived at the palace to find the council fiercely debating their fates. Alone, neither of them could even begin to contemplate such a task—but together, they decided, they would take on the duty. At the time, everything had been such an overwhelming rush, and Wil had not stopped to think about what their choice would mean for their future children.

But it was something he had grappled with a lot during these past few months. And now, it was not a thought that the young king could avoid.

Jair’s destiny was more or less set in stone.

One day, he would be king.  And, on top of that, he would probably have to deal with a magical destiny as well. After all, his mother was a powerful druid and Wil had inherited ancient elven magic from his own father.

Wil gave a small sigh as he reached down to gently stroke his son’s dark hair. There was a time when he had resented Shea for what he was. Growing up as the only elven child in a human settlement had been rough. And then Allanon had arrived to tell him about the burden of the Shannara line.

He had wanted to run. To hide. But it had quickly become apparent that he had no choice. Wil had stepped up to the challenge. He accepted who he was now. But part of him still hated to think that his son would one day face the same thing.

At least, Wil mused, running his finger along Jair’s long pointed ear, he would be accepted here. As Eretria had commented during her visit earlier that day, “apparently two short tips made one long tips”—Jair, the son of two halflings, looked almost entirely elven.

Here, he would grow up with his own kind.

Jair’s life, in some respects at least, would be much easier then his own.

He was grateful for that.

Unable to resist any longer, the new father reached down and gently pulled his son into his arms. The babe did not seem to wake, and Wil revelled in the feeling of holding this tiny, perfect, child against him.

He wondered, briefly, if his own father had ever held him close like this. Wil had few fond memories of the man, but he no longer blamed Shea for succumbing to the burdens of his life. As he held his own son close, he tried to imagine how it would have felt had circumstances been different.

Wil and his son were in one of the grandest palaces in the land, surrounded by those who wished them well. There would be challenges, but they had every comfort and resource they could possibly need.

What if he had stayed in the Vale, Wil mused with a small frown. How would he feel if he was, instead, standing in a tiny cottage, cradling a small elven baby who would be hated by all around him? Hated by members of his own family?

Could he cope with the thought of his child having such a life, and with the fear that he might one day be thrown into a magical destiny he was determined to resist?

Perhaps he too would have broken.

Thankfully, however, Wil knew that would not be the case. They were safe here, and both he and Mareth knew that destiny was not a thing they could ignore. Wil had accepted it all- the elfstones, his magic, the sword, his title. He wouldn’t have chosen it, but he knew how to cope. He accepted it. 

One day, he would teach Jair how to do the same.

No matter what life had in store, Wil knew that he would always be there to help his son through.

“I can’t promise that there won’t be challenges.” Wil whispered before placing a gentle kiss atop the boy’s head. “But I promise I will be there for you. I promise you will be okay.”

He held his son close as he watched the moon rise high above the palace.

There was no way to know what the future would bring— but Wil knew that he would never break.


End file.
